Till I Kissed You (23 page)

“Thinking that you'd cheated on me—” He made a protesting noise, but she continued. “It was my reality whether it was the truth or not. My confidence was shaken, and I was afraid to take chances. I ended up doing something that was comfortable. Something Mother approved of.”

“Decorating?”

“Interior design, if you please. I'm really good at my job, and it made me happy again. I got a minor in political science.”

“You would have been really good as a Washington bigwig too. Does being mayor make you happy?”

“It's not the UN, but I'm making a difference.”

He chuckled. “I'd say some of the characters around here are more challenging than anything the UN deals with.”

“I love Cottonbloom. I haven't regretted it.” It was true. She loved knowing her neighbors, having lifelong friends to call when she needed help, and seeing the tangible differences she was making.

A silence fell, but much of the tension had dissipated. She rested her head on his shoulder and let her toes touch the cool water. He took her hand, their fingers playing.

She owed him something else. “I'm sorry, Sawyer.”

“For what?”

“For cutting you out of my life. For not giving you another chance.”

“I'm sorry I didn't try harder to make it up to you. We were both young and kind of dumb.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “You were dumber than me though.”

“Oh, really?” He weaved their fingers and tickled her waist with his other hand. She squealed and bucked in his lap. He shifted her back to the other seat in the boat. “All right, enough messing around. We have a saboteur to find.”

A grin threatened but she kept it confined to a small smile. He cranked the motor and maneuvered them into the middle of the river, pointing them back upstream. The wind made a conversation impossible. Their relationship had shifted. A path forward had been cleared of the ballast from their pasts. How and what it meant was still unclear.

He slowed the boat on the approach to the bank. The sense of déjà vu paralleling the feelings of a new start unbalanced her. They didn't speak again until they were under the oak tree.

“You got plans for tonight?”

Was he asking her out on a date? “No plans. Nope. Nothing.” How desperate did she sound?

“I've got an idea where we might look for our mystery man.”

“Gotcha. Sure thing.” No date then. A mission.

“Wear something casual. I'll pick you up around nine.”

“Boat or truck?”

A mischievous smile played around his mouth. “We'll start with the truck.”

She backed from the shadows of the tree into the bright sunlight, the change like the flash of a camera, blinding her.

“Until tonight.” His lips brushed over her cheek and then he was gone. Would the promise she heard in his voice be fulfilled?

She watched him hop down the bank and stared as he rounded the first bend in the river, the past both close and a lifetime away.

 

Chapter Seventeen

“This is not a good idea,” she said.

“Not in those shoes it's not. I told you to dress casual.” Sawyer's voice teased as the truck bounced and rocked through the ruts.

“I have shorts on.” Her voice rose defensively. She'd ended up driving to his farmhouse and leaving her car there. Otherwise, she would have changed on his burst of laughter when he'd greeted her.

“You paired them with heels and a silk shirt. Not my definition of casual.”

“I don't own hiking boots.” She braced the pointy end of her shoe against the edge of the floorboard. “I did not think casual meant a bonfire and a keg in the middle of the marshes. I'm not outdoorsy.” She'd chosen the heels with him in mind and hadn't been disappointed in the way his gaze heated and flickered down the length of her legs.

“That's not what I remember. You used to come out on my boat every chance you got.”

She harrumphed, but there was no heat behind it. “I wasn't on your boat because I enjoyed getting eaten alive by bugs and splashed with mucky river water. I was there because you were there, dummy.”

“I love it when you're all sweet with a bite of tart with me, Regan.” He covered the hand she had braced on the center console with his own. The steering wheel jerked to the right, sending them toward a bank of trees before he corrected.

Light flickered through the trees. Her stomach's flip-flopping grew more pronounced even as the rough track smoothed into a field. It would be mostly Louisiana people gathered. She couldn't imagine her ladies' Sunday School group or the Junior League of Cottonbloom, Mississippi, drinking beer from red plastic cups out in the boonies. Would she know anyone?

He parked next to a jacked-up four-by-four and opened his door. She grabbed his arm. “What's our story going to be?”

He turned toward her with one foot on the running board. “What do you mean?”

“You know, if someone asks what we're doing here together.”

His smile faltered and his brows drew in. “What do you want to tell people?”

“We certainly can't say we're looking for the man who vandalized my shop and tried to kill my mother's tomatoes and possibly cut up your parish's crayfish baskets. I guess we can go with the ubiquitous ‘we're hanging out.'”

“Sure. Hanging out. Sounds fine.” He was there to offer a hand as she slid onto the running board. A very polite hand.

Maybe that's all they really were doing. Hanging out. “Because we are old friends, right? Not so crazy that we would hang out.” She checked his expression, but it was bland. Her nerves took control of her mouth. “My best friend and your brother are practically living together. Not so far-fetched our lives would intersect. Plus, the festivals.”

He stopped with them still hidden between two truck beds. “Are you nervous or something?”

“Maybe.” At least, the hard-packed ground made her heels manageable. “I look ridiculous.”

“Please. You'll be the prettiest thing out here.” The compliment rolled off his tongue with unsettling ease. They stood close enough for her to feel his body's heat. He was in jeans and a plain black T-shirt. With his longer hair and stubble, he looked rough and tough. No one would mess with her with him at her side.

“You won't go off and leave me to fend for myself, right?”

“No one is going to bite. Cade's bringing Monroe and Uncle Delmar will be around. I'm sure you'll know plenty of people.” He stepped into the wavery light of the bonfire, took her hand, and didn't let go. “Do you think you'd recognize the man you saw outside your mama's garden if you ran into him again?”

The mission. She needed to focus on the mission and not on how good his big hand felt or the way his arm brushed hers as they stepped in tandem. “I didn't see his face. Maybe if I saw him moving, it would trigger something. Nothing that would hold up in a court of law though.”

“No. But enough I could put some feelers out. Keep a lookout, all right?”

She nodded. The line of people standing at the edge of the field parted to let them through to the keg. Sawyer received good-natured pats on the shoulder and dropped her hand to dole out handshakes. She plastered a smile on her face. Most people either gave her a polite nod or ignored her altogether.

In their wake, she could hear the whispers. Maybe they were discussing the dry spell, maybe they were discussing the constellations, but Regan was pretty sure she and Sawyer were the subject of the buzzing.

Sawyer's uncle Delmar sat on a wooden stool a dozen feet away, strumming on a guitar. Sawyer stuffed a twenty into a mason jar filled with money, pumped the keg, and filled two cups with beer. He handed one over, and she drank half in one go. The cold beer offered a small amount of liquid courage.

He guided her away from the bonfire with a big hand on her lower back. Delmar and Sawyer exchanged a half-hug as Regan rocked on her feet. She'd not exchanged more than two words with his uncle since she'd hired him to finish the pavilion, primarily to poke Sawyer into a snit. It had worked rather spectacularly, but her guilt about leveraging Delmar had grown.

“Hi there, Miss Mayor.” He accompanied his greeting with a strumming chord. “You're looking mighty pretty this evening.”

Nothing in his eyes or demeanor fed her guilt, yet she took a step forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Delmar, I'm sorry about the thing with the pavilion back in June. I shouldn't have hired you just to gig Sawyer.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with the same good humor that had passed to his nephew. “Well now, you're going to force me to apologize for dropping those rabbits in your mama's backyard, aren't you?”

She burst into laughter. “I guess we're even then.”

“You couldn't convince Ms. Leora to come out with you?” Sawyer's voice was teasing.

“Nah. Leora's too refined for these shenanigans. This is her bridge night anyway.” He strummed a chord. “I miss her though.” The random chords took on a rhythm and turned into a haunting melody in a minor key.

She took a step back and bumped into Sawyer's chest. He circled his arms around her, anchoring her. She closed her eyes and turned her face into his neck. Linear time ceased to exist. The music unraveled her insides and left her yearning for something she couldn't name, but she wondered if it wasn't wrapped up in the man whose arms were wrapped around her.

“There you two are.” Monroe's voice startled Regan's eyes open. She squirmed and Sawyer released her to talk to Cade while Monroe pulled her a little away from Delmar and the men.

“I'm glad you're here,” Regan said. “I was afraid you and Cade were going to get all distracted and leave me hanging.”

“Wouldn't miss the biggest social upheaval in the history of either side of the river.”

“What are you talking about?”

“People are agog.”

“Agog?”

“Cade and I already knew about you and Sawyer, but seeing you getting all cozy in his arms is still a shock.” Monroe waggled her eyebrows.

Regan wiped a prickling sweat from her forehead and killed the rest of her beer. “I don't know that anything is going on. He made it sound like tonight was more about finding the man I saw in Mother's garden, not a date.”

“Puh-lease. You two are meant for each other. Like Romeo and Juliet.”

“They both died at the end. It was not a love story.”

“Okay, bad example. How about
Pretty Woman
 … except she was a hooker.
The Notebook
? Wait, she lost her mind in the end, didn't she? Never mind, you'll write your own story. Like me and Cade.”

“You and Cade were never star-crossed lovers; you were fated lovers. You two are pathetically adorable.”

Monroe looked toward the Fournette brothers. “I won't argue.”

Regan stared into the bonfire, the licking flames hypnotic. Part of her wanted to spill everything Sawyer had confessed on the river to Monroe. But a bigger part of her wanted to keep their afternoon for herself to pick over and analyze in the dark of night. “Let's say something is going on between me and Sawyer. What if I'm setting myself up for more disappointment?”

“Why do you assume it will end badly? Or end at all for that matter?”

“Just a feeling I suppose. One of inevitability.”

“Give him a chance. Instead of searching for excuses to not trust him, look for reasons to trust him.” Monroe shifted around until they were both staring into the fire. “Are you worried about what your mother might say?”

“Not really.” A weak denial. She had spent a good portion of her youth toeing her mother's line. Meeting Sawyer had weakened her mother's hold, but not broken it.

Monroe narrowed her eyes and tilted her head as if Regan's insecurities were playing out like a drive-in movie. “You should follow your heart. Don't look to your mother or to me or the town for approval.” She squeezed Regan's hand. “But I have your back no matter what happens. Chicks before you-know-whats.”

Regan hip-bumped her, and they both laughed. They walked over to Sawyer and Cade. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Sawyer slipped his arm around her waist while Cade laid his over Monroe's shoulders, not pausing in their conversation about bolt suppliers.

“Don't you two get enough shop talk in at the garage?” Monroe elbowed Cade in the side.

“Sorry about that. Actually, I need to talk to Uncle Del real quick about his engine.” Cade graced Monroe with a sheepish smile before walking away. Monroe trailed behind him, tossing a wink over her shoulder.

Sawyer moved behind Regan, put an arm over her chest and put his mouth close to her ear. Shivers tingled through her and she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“It's time to scope out the crowd.” His whisper jolted her. She kept her head tilted back, but turned her face toward his and gazed up. Conversations and laughter rose and ebbed, drowning out Delmar's quiet strumming. “I want you to look over all the men. I know you didn't see his face, but you knew Jeremy wasn't him based on the way he moved.”

“An informal lineup?”

“Exactly.” He weaved their fingers and led her to the outskirts, where the orange light of the fire bled into inky darkness. They made their way around the perimeter. Clumps of men and women conversed. Long, movable shadows from the bonfire made it difficult. “See anyone familiar?”

“I can't point a finger. Sorry.”

“It's okay. It was a long shot.” Even though his words absolved, disappointment colored his voice, and the disappointment cut deeper than it should have.

“It's too dark and no one's moving. And, like you said, I never saw his face.”

“Regan, it's fine. I didn't really expect to find him. Do you want another beer?”